


Two-Faced Nihilism

by orphan_account



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and existentialism issues, M/M, They touch the subject of death quite a lot. Just a warning., launchshipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-28
Updated: 2016-10-28
Packaged: 2018-08-27 12:29:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8401765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Archer is distressed over his own miniscule existence. Proton finds beauty in the impermanent, and hopes to talk Archer back to his senses.11/6 Update: Rewrote the entire fic because I felt I could do better.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by 'Satin in a Coffin' by Modest Mouse, and a pinch of personal experience.

Proton is, to say the least, perturbed about Archer's recent absence. He hasn't been present at work, nor has he answered to anyone who tried to contact him. Not Ariana's calls or Petrel's emails or Proton's texts. Which is irksome, and Proton even takes personal offense to that. Sure, Archer can ignore Ariana and Petrel all he wants, that's fine and dandy. But _Proton_? 

Now, Proton isn't typically dictating when it comes to that sort of thing. His not-quite-boyfriend isn't one for idle chat and Proton isn't obnoxious enough to force it out of him, surprisingly. Though, Proton is immensely worried about Archer at this point, and his silence is not comforting. 

Maybe Proton would understand if the situation was simply Archer ignoring him, since that's been a common occurrence in the past. But no, Archer is a man of business and anyone in his company for a solid five minutes would know so. It's in the poise he holds himself with; it's in the authoritative tone he spoke in to demand respect; it's threaded in every fiber of his being. Failing to arrive at work repeatedly (moreover failing to fabricate an excuse) raises all sorts of red flags. 

Therefore Proton takes it upon himself to investigate. (Or rather, Ariana was about to release Petrel on the case, and Proton was having none of that.)

And thus Proton arrives on Archer's porch, beating on the door as if to bash it down. He waits a moment, like somehow a miracle will occur and Archer will respond. Which he doesn't. Logically. No more time is wasted with vain attempts. Instead he resorts to intrusion, which is always a good solution in Proton's mind. The only significant obstacle in his way is the triad of locks installed on the door (which Proton's always questioned, because three locks seems a bit excessive). Oh well. Archer's train of thought worked in mysterious ways. 

But Proton was aware of their existence beforehand, because they're something hard to forget, and brought along a set of lock picks. These are attached to his belt by a keychain, which he then unhooks for usage. Two of the three are deadbolts and the other a passcode. Despite Proton's mastery with lock-picking, the task remains tedious, and he blames some of the frustration on the pressure of the whole situation. But he manages, because he's Proton and Proton always manages. The passcode lock is by far the easiest considering he's memorized the digits long ago. 

The door opens with no further resistance. Inside, the house is silent and the lights dim, with a slight chill to the atmosphere. Which, in itself, isn't too troublesome, because Archer always has kept the house at a near-abandoned state. 

A soft pitter-patter bounds up to the foyer. It's Houndoom. It looks oddly relieved to see Proton, with its tail wagging and the fact it's not trying to kill him. Another red flag is raised; Houndoom never greets Proton with hospitality. It walks back and forth, as if urging him to follow with anxious steps. Which he does, because he'd be stupid not to.

Proton is led to the living room, and, quite frankly, he is not prepared for the sight he walks in on: Archer sprawled out on the carpet on his back, thoroughly disheveled and unmoving. The imagery forces his mind to the worst conclusion possible--Archer somehow being dead--but upon further inspection, this is not the case. His chest was visibly moving; breathing. 

Houndoom sits itself beside its owner, peering up at Proton in a wordless gesture to join them. He does exactly that, placing himself cross-legged next to Archer. His mind is exploding with questions and assumptions but none are verbalized. So he waits to be acknowledged instead. He doesn't receive any recognition.

"Why aren't you at work?" is the first question to reach Proton's tongue. Perhaps it's not the most appropriate or timely question, but it'll suffice. 

An immediate response does not come. There's no deciphering what's running rampant in Archer's mind, if anything at all. All Proton is capable of gathering is the context clues--slight indications of whatever happened to Archer. 

From his place on the floor, Proton glimpses to the kitchen first. It's not terribly far; it's the only area he can spot easily from the living room. It's in an orderly fashion, which is expected from a man such as Archer. Either he's kept tidy in this time of… whatever this is… or he's barely touched anything to begin with (Proton decides the latter). 

Mugs line the counter along the sink, and the coffee pot is half full, with no other dishes dirtied. "Arceus, did you even eat anything these past few days? You know, besides coffee." It's no secret Archer is a caffeine addict--hell, he'd probably inject it straight into his veins if he could--but Proton is unfortunate enough to know he tries to sustain himself on it whenever he gets into some depressive state. It provides him with energy when he can't will himself to eat much else. Proton glances back to Archer. Apparently not enough energy. 

Proton vaguely wonders if Archer put himself here on the floor, or if he collapsed and never bothered to get up.

Archer's breathing staggers and the presence of another being finally registers. The blip attracts Proton's attention. He lingers on his previous inquiry: "Why aren't you at work?" There's a beat, then two. He's convinced he won't be getting any answers, but then there is one. 

"What is the _point_?" Not quite what Proton wanted, but a start. It's almost rhetorical how Archer poses it; it's a question without the question. But it's still stupid, nonetheless, because the point should go without saying. 

"What do you mean?" Proton retorts with a touch of venom, to relay just how stupid he thinks it is. "The point is you're Rocket's leader and we need you."

Archer runs his hands down his face, nails dragging down his forehead, eyes, and cheeks to jaw--angry red lines raking across his face. Looks like it hurts, but Proton makes no attempt to stop him. "What is the point? How will I benefit from this in the end? Every deed I have done is for nothing."

And it's this tangent that strikes a bell; Proton can foggily recall Archer uttering similar in the past. In a time Proton doesn't like to recall, in a time Archer broke himself to pieces and Proton was left to helplessly clean the mess and glue the bits back together. 

In all genuineness, Proton doesn't want to witness Archer break again. So he tries his best to fabricate encouragement, despite encouragement not being his strong suit. "It isn't for nothing. Giovanni's gone, and it's your responsibility to fill his shoes until he returns. You said so yourself."

"Giovanni is _dead_." 

It's those words that tear to tatters something taboo, that takes Proton by surprise, because he's never expected Archer to come to say it. 

A pause. "We don't know that, Archer."

" _Yes we do_." It's here his tone is brimming with resentment (for who, Proton's uncertain). "We do know that. I know that, Ariana knows that, Petrel knows that. _You_ know that. Do not feign ignorance." Proton can hear the hesitance--the choking--in his voice. 

There's no suitable way to respond to that. So Proton tempts denial, which is a childish move on his part. "He's not dead." But who is he even trying to convince? Certainly not himself. Certainly not Archer. Perhaps he was trying to prove something to Arceus-knows-what. 

"Do you even believe what you are saying?" 

No. But it's not like Proton ever trusts whatever spilled from his mouth anyways. 

Archer doesn't grant him the time to get his voice together. "What does this suggest for me? My fate? Am I going to be consumed by my own intentions and left for dead like he was, with nothing accomplished? Nothing that could have been accomplished?" 

And Proton can only sit and ponder where half of this is coming from. Someplace dark, probably. Someplace Archer's locked away within his mind, probably behind a trinity of locks. Something cruel and overflowing, until it seeps out of the cracks in the chest that held it. 

"I don't get you, Archer. Where's that ambitious bastard that rose to position of leader?" He's in there somewhere, Proton knows. That over-confidence Archer typically presents can't be a façade. It can't be. "You wanted this, Archer. You _wanted_ a taste of power. And now… this..? What the fuck do you mean, 'nothing accomplished'?"

"It will not matter… Once I am dead, it will not matter," he mutters, over and over like a broken record with nothing better to play.

"Who's saying you're going to die any time soon?" 

"No, no, not _soon_ , but I will. Just like him."

He's ideating his own death again. Ah. This has been an issue in the past, Proton knows, despite it being a little known fact. Again, it was a time he doesn't like to think about. "If not soon, then what're you even fussing over? Everyone dies, get over it." It occurs to him that he's supposed to be helpful in this predicament, and perhaps softening his reasoning is in order. "Look… you can't escape death, or cheat it, or whatever you think you're wise enough to do. But you _can_ make a mark on this world. Make it so people won't-- _can't_ \--forget you."

"That amounts to nothing once they are dead, too," he bites, like a feral animal on defense. "We all have such little time, do you not understand? Nothing I say or do amounts to anything in the end." He's in a continuous loop, caving in on himself, Proton realizes. Archer can't be comforted with petty words, and perhaps he doesn't even crave comfort. What he wants is to be difficult. That's too bad, because that's Proton's job and he's not about to accept this attitude from Archer; it's unacceptable. 

"That's exactly what I'm trying to drill in your head: we have little time. So instead of crying over it like a _baby_ , you should be striving to do something for the sake of yourself," Proton says. It's harsh, yes, but he wants to make it stick for as long as possible, since there's no telling when his words will wear off. 

Archer cannot bear eye contact and covers his face with his white-knuckled hands. His bitterness and distress plagues him with emotional turmoil, and the undertone of shame he feels will not allow him to even glance in Proton's direction. He's stronger than this. He shouldn't be so bent out of shape over something otherwise trivial, he knows. But Archer can't control his emotions, as much as he likes to think the opposite. 

"And y'know what?"

Archer would very much like Proton to shut up. 

"You're right. Abso-fucking-lutely right." And despite the credit, there's no possible way it can end anywhere preferable. "And I'm not saying it to kiss your ass, either. Sure, nothing matters. But that's the beauty of it."

It's ridiculous how he can even say such a thing. There's no beauty in impermanence. 

"There's no grand scheme of nature or fate, or whatever else society likes to shove down people's throats. But that's not restriction, that's freedom." Proton's mellowed now, no longer dripping venom from his words. He replaces the barbs with something softer that's almost comforting. "Do whatever makes you feel alive, because one day you won't be." 

There's a pause and Archer opens his mouth to protest, but Proton does not allow this and smothers out his words with his own. 

"Look. We humans are miniscule, okay? Tiny, unimportant, some even pathetic. And the grand majority of us want to change that somehow, and then we get all bent out of shape when we can't manipulate it. "But instead of trying to play god and worrying about the _if's_ and the _when's_ we should just spend our time screwing around and doing whatever it is makes us happy. Because, shit, the universe doesn't give a fuck what we're doing. Take advantage of that. We aren't of grand-scale importance or whatever else we like to believe. So why waste time crying over it?"

Archer is irresponsive, and Proton is unsure if he's even listening at this point. If so, Proton doubts he'll take the words to heart. He never did in the past, anyways.

"Look. The air we breathe is slowly killing us. This is like, a fact. Just don't worry about it too much." Which is asking the impossible. It's a poor attempt to show support, which ends beneficial for neither of them. His only option is to make light of the situation and brush it off as if it never happened. He knows Archer will tomorrow. 

In a last attempt to comfort him, he pets Archer's hair idly, at least until he's less tense. Archer withdraws his hands from his face, still refusing eye contact, but seems a little more relaxed, like the misery was finally subsiding. 

Proton speaks gently with something light and whimsical in his tone. "And hey, maybe you'll be sick of this planet when your time's up and you'll want to be rid of these discount monkeys."

To that, Archer chuckles, though the laugh is short and devoid of true humor. It's sad, really, but the action is almost instinctual. He can't help it. He isn't exactly relieved at this point, but he is becoming numb to the turmoil he's felt, and he supposes that's the first step to letting go of the negativity.

Proton stands and stretches; sitting on the floor is not ideal for his back, nor Archer's. So he offers him a hand. "C'mon, up. I can't imagine how long you've been on the carpet." The offer is accepted and Archer takes his hand, still managing to avoid eye contact, and allows Proton to hoist him up. 

"Hey. Hey, look at me." 

Archer doesn't cooperate. 

" _Archer_."

Nothing. 

Proton sighs. He takes Archer's face in his hands, securing it in place so he can look at him. There's a long silence, a long pause. Proton waits until Archer musters the courage to make eye contact. "You okay?" It's a trick question. He's not, he really isn't, but that isn't what Proton means. He's asking if Archer is the slightest bit better--if he can manage. 

"….Yes." It's barely above a whisper. 

And Proton knows that's not a definite end-all answer also, but it will suffice. So he lets Archer go (but not without a kiss to the cheek first) and directs him towards the kitchen. "Now I'll be invading your pantry's ingredients, since I doubt you've eaten anything in a while, Mr. I Run On Coffee."

Archer sits on a barstool at the counter. Houndoom, who's since left the room, returns once it sees everything is relatively normal again, and sits next to Archer on the ground. Proton gathers ingredients for basic paella, then collects the necessary kitchenware. "Then it's off to bed," he says with his back turned. He pauses to glance at Archer. "Because caffeine isn't a proper substitute for sleep."

And Archer would have laughed a dead laugh if not for his insufficiently low energy. So he makes an incoherent sound instead that's semi-confirmative. Proton accepts it. 

Proton is still immensely worried. He knows this will not be the last time an episode such as this will occur, and he can only count the days until the next time Archer begins overthinking. But Archer is appeased, and so Proton's only option is to be settled by the fact he is.

Well. Appeased and settled for now, anyways.


End file.
